Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Astarion could feel the warmth of his body, the swimming pressure in his head as his vision made the room tilt back and forth. The pressure behind his eyes blurring his vision, the sounds in the room muffled yet too loud. His pale hands gripping the lacquered wood of the bar counter. The half-orc, clad in a leather apron and tattered linen clothes shot him a glare and a soft snort as she took in his disheveled demeanor. A warning, and a threat, flashing in her eyes as she dried a freshly washed glass. She would not be cleaning up after him, or dismantling any of his squabbles.

The nights had been filled with these moments. Loud bar music and strangers too close and too smelly for him. The others had moved on…left him. Saved him from the imposing thralls of Cazador but ultimately, moved on. Tav and Shadowheart got their happily ever after and so did Wyll and Karlach. Lae’zel was now a mother. He snickered as he recalled the strong willed githyanki staring in awe at the child that had hatched from the egg. He knew she would make a fine mother, but he’d fall through the Hells before he admitted that to her. Even Gale had departed. A twinge filled Astarion’s chest, almost leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. He knew that feeling all too well…longing.

The wizard’s face flashed behind his now closed eyes. The subtle shine of the gray hairs beginning to overtake the warm brown, the crease near the corners of his mouth whenever he smiled. The crows feet and the gleam in his eyes when he laughed and the soft timbre of his voice was more harmonic than an entire symphony. The pale elf dug his nails into the counter, the wood creaking under his strong grip as he willed the images of Gale to flee his memory. He’d done well to keep himself in a stupor most of the time so that these memories were few and far between.

Yet, longing twinged through his every waking and sober moment. He spent his evenings in a drunken stupor, attempting to bed anyone who approached him. He could never bring himself to follow through, though. Pitifully, he had even resorted to trying to lure men that looked similar to Gale, but he still yielded nothing. He could not bring himself to bed cheap “knock offs”. Most nights he resorted to clenching a fist around his swollen cock and rubbing himself off to the memories of the wizard. They would flash into his mind like he could still feel the soft breeze glide through camp, disturbing the fabric of their tent. He could still feel the penetrating sunlight as it danced through the tree canopies, casting ever changing shadows across the camp. He would remember Gale at camp reading a book, or him practicing magic. Reciting spells and patching his robes. Astarion imagined Gale inviting him to bathe…the subtle twitch of Astarion’s cock in his trousers was enough to pull him from his fantasies. The swell of rambunctious bar patrons and loud music filled his senses again, thrusting the images of the wizard to the back of his mind again. He needed to get back to his quarters to deal with himself.

He groaned as he pulled himself back up to a completely upright position, nausea wracking his stomach as he shifted his hips. Adjusting the slight discomfort he now experienced in the crotch of his pants, his semi rubbing against the coarse fabric of his trousers. The feeling of it made his stomach hollow out. The sensation sent pinpricks along his shaft and tingles down his legs. A tired, sensual sigh escaped him at the feeling. He rummaged his hand in the inside pocket of his tunic, finding a gold piece, and placing it down on the bar in front of the bar attendant. She gave him a subtle nod, one he returned, as he finally willed his heavy legs to move.

Astarion pushed his way out of the heavy wooden door of the bar. The surface of the door was rough from years of drunken hands pushing against it. He stumbled out into the night, the cobblestoned street full of half-drunken citizens meandering from one bar to another. He blinked as his eyes shifted to adjust to the dim light of the outside. The only light offered were tall, wrought iron street lamps. Rust had overtaken them long ago and the flames inside of them dim, the faeries imprisoned inside close to the end of their life cycles. A couple of people had stumbled to a wall, a closed storefront, to relieve themselves before stumbling back into the closet bar that would let them in smelling of booze and piss. The sky was clouded, not a visible star in the sky and the moon peaked out from small patches of open sky between the clouds. The air was brisk and he could feel the chill of the air through his clothes. He took in a deep breath and began his trek back to where he was calling home.

Images of the wizard began whizzing through his mind again. Shit. Shit! He felt himself focusing on his stumbling feet too much as he used the uneven brick walls of the shop fronts and other bars to keep his balance. The dark, uneven rocks biting into his skin. The images of the wizard raced through his mind and he felt the swell in his crotch grow more…more. Hells! With his swimming vision, Astarion found a semi-secluded alley between a closed up art supplies store and an old cobbler storefront. No one would be coming through here unless it was to piss or puke. He could see the small clouds of his breath as he wandered as far away from the main street bustle as he could, the secluded alleyway veiling his body in shadows as he felt a growing flutter rise in his stomach. He needed to deal with himself, now. He was not going to stumble home with a tent in his pants on full display.

There had been many times the vampire had had to stop to take pisses on his way home, and this alley was usually the best one to use. Shadowed enough, even on particularly bright nights, and between two shops who didn’t have patrons until the sun was well up into the sky. The uneven, dark brick walls of the shops rose high above his head. If absolutely necessary, there were usually strewn about old crates that were stacked up that he could hide behind. His shaky hands fumbled with the latches on his trousers, his cock throbbing. The cold air made his fingers almost uncooperative, but his cock was begging to be released from the stiff confines of his trousers. His vision swam and swirled as his fingers finally loosed the last latch, his bulge almost forcing its way out and with a soft sigh of relief his member was freed from its confines.

He lifts the bottom hem of his tunic, gooseflesh stubbling his pale skin as he looks down at himself. Pre-cum welling at the tip of his cock before dripping down onto the ground. Even his cock was crying at the thoughts of that wizard, begging to remember him. Lustfully wishing Astarion had taken the wizard up on his offers to bathe, to nap together. When they had traveled together, there had been many a night that the wizard found his way to Astarion’s tent and they had talked and laughed through the night. Gale would leave with just a grazing touch somewhere on Astarion’s body. The thought of Gale’s hands traveling under Astarion’s clothes was enough to make his cock throb, pre-cum welling again before sliding down along his shaft. The sensation sent a shiver from his tailbone to his shoulder blades. Oh how he wished this wetness was from the slick spit of Gale’s tongue. He imagined the warm, soft muscle wrapping itself around his shaft, wetting his skin with spit as he would watch Gale lap up his pre-cum. His tongue would run along the slit at the head of his cock, he felt himself twitch. His fangs nipped at his bottom lip as he sucked it into his mouth, suppressing the moan that threatened to escape him.

Astarion glanced behind him, noting the few people passing at the opening of the alley. None of them noticed him, the shadows concealing him enough, though he wouldn’t give it much mind if someone stumbled their way here while he was dealing with himself. His pleasure was his priority and he didn’t care if he had much of an audience. He had taken to pleasuring himself often at camp, and every time he had hoped the wizard would walk in and catch him. Help him. He turned back to his hard-on and a shuddering sigh escaped him, a knot forming in his throat as he let a string of saliva trail from his lip and land on the shaft of his cock. His hand wrapped around the warm, silken skin of his hard on. The warm fluid mixed with the pre-cum that already slicked his flesh as his hand began stroking….stroking….stroking.

His eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered. The tight sensation in his core familiar as he felt every muscle in him tense, pleasure roiling through him in intense waves. He spent most nights pleasuring himself but this had been the first night his brain had been entirely encapsulated by Gale. He was in such a frenzied mood that he had opted to please himself out in the open, knowing he would not be able to stumble to his dwellings in the condition he was in. His breath hitched as he prepared to let out a satisfied moan, the tense muscles of his core, his crotch, warming when…a voice echoed down the alley.

“Hello?” someone called out at the mouth of the alley. Hells! Oh Hells! His hand continued to pump his firm cock as he backed himself against the cool, sharp rock of one of the storefronts. Trying to conceal his body, the partial exposure of his nakedness , as he glanced towards the voice. A figure stood, taking up almost the entire space of the wide entrance of the alley, their body obscured by a heavy cloak but…the scent. That scent. The sweet twinge of magic and the subtle hint of fresh ink and jasmine washed itself over Astarion’s every sense. A sharp shudder traveling through his core, tingling down his legs and through his arms, into his finger tips. He could hear the click of boot heels echo against cool stone walls as the figure approached.

Astarion’s chest heaved, air caught in his throat as dread overcame him. If he had a heartbeat, it would be thumping relentlessly against the muscles of his chest. He attempted to stuff his throbbing hard on back into his trousers, somehow desperate to not embarrass himself. He usually didn’t mind being interrupted but this, this was different. This was fate, chance, divine intervention maybe?

“Well, well,” Astarion cooed,” if it isn’t the esteemed wizard, Gale of Waterdeep. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing around here?” Astarion crossed his arms over his chest, an attempt at nonchalance. He hoped his crooked grin and goading words would be enough to keep the wizard’s eyes on his face, but he knew he looked disheveled enough that it would raise concern. He was grateful that Gale was human or he’d definitely be able to note the smell of his arousal. Astarion cleared his throat and shifted his hips as he felt the cloth of his pants begin to soak up the pre-cum leaking from him, a wet patch pressing against his firm flesh, sending a chill through him.

“I could ask you the same question, my friend,” Gale’s smooth voice filled the alley and the wizard swiftly removed his concealing hood, revealing the planes of his face. His dark brown hair was tied back loosely at the nape of his neck, longer than the last time he’d seen the wizard and speckled even more with grays. His beard, while well-kept, was also speckled with more gray. Gale offered Astarion a relaxed, inviting smile,” My it is very good to see you. I had been hearing rumors of a quite sickly looking fellow skulking about these parts and I had to make my rounds. I was hoping…I was hoping it was you.``

Astarion’s piercing red eyes snapped to Gale’s face. His voice dropping to a low whisper, ”Hoping? I mean, well, why would you be so curious to look into a sickly fellow? And sickly?! Come now! I look as healthy as can be. The people around here are just jealous of my complexion!” He offers the wizard a cheshire grin, his feigned confidence lacing every word in honey and venom. Anything to keep those eyes from wandering. Though, his drunken mind almost wanted to expose himself to Gale. Show Gale what the very thought of him reduced Astarion to. His dick throbbed against the unbuckled fabric of his trousers, painfully swelling, almost begging to be freed again.

“I could see how they would spread such rumors about one with such a complexion as yours,” a flutter of laughter escaped Gale, and the sound filled Astarion with warmth beyond that of his arousal. How he had missed that laugh, the flash of the abnormally sharp canines the human wizard possessed. Astarion felt an easy smile break out across his face as he watched the wizard, taking in the view of him. Gale’s eyes begin to wander as he takes in the appearance of Astarion, assessing Astarion.

Astarion's body tensed, hoping that the wizard’s eyes would remain fixated on his face. Oh hells. He’s going to see. The muscles in Astarion’s chest tightened, as he considered how this could affect his relationship with Gale. Exposing himself to Gale fully and gauging his response from there. Would Gale advance on him or disapprove and decide to leave? Maybe it was the drunken state of his mind, his defensive walls were lower when he was in this state. Beyond that, he knew Gale, and they had already shared many moments together. None of them intimate…but that was his folly for denying Gale’s advances. He had wanted the man so desperately but feared that he would just face rejection and, furthermore, end up harming the wizard. So he always withdrew and left Gale with nothing. He would pleasure himself to the thoughts, the fantasies of what could have been. Where would they be in their relationship now?

Astarion’s eyes traveled back to the wizard’s face, assessing him. His eyes, while warm and inviting, still looked tired. There were splotches of purple underneath them that revealed his lack of sleep and there was a slight exhaustion in his stance. His shoulders slouched slighting and Astarion wanted so desperately to hug him, to feel the warmth of Gale’s body. Astarion could feel his arousal melting away as worry fluttered into his stomach, into his chest. He could tell Gale had not been taking care of himself and it almost filled him with rage. All those times Gale would dote on him when they adventuring together, and the moments Gale would scold Astarion when he assumed the vampire wasn’t taking care of himself.

“You’re not doing well…” Astarion spoke softly, an inquisitive tone to his statement. He didn’t need to ask outright, and he knew that Gale could tell he wasn’t asking for confirmation. Astarion inhaled deeply, doing up the latches on his pants again, the moment for his pleasure passing as his full focus was now on the wizard before him. There would be plenty more opportunities to fantasize about him but, for now, he would relish in the genuine company of Gale. He pushed aside his nausea and his swimming vision as he let out the breath he had been holding. He stepped toward the wizard, focusing on the feeling of his boots against the stone ground. Gale needed his full attention, and he would give him that. After everything, he would show Gale how he felt. He was done losing people, projecting his assumptions of losing people onto his desires. He would pursue Gale how he wanted, how he had hoped he had the moment they split ways. The longing that had remained in him for all this time had weighed heavy on his consciousness, it made his chest heavy and his stomach churn. He would not miss this opportunity.

He looked into Gale’s warm brown eyes as he placed his chilled hands on either side of the wizard’s face. His skin was soft, his facial hair pricking his skin slightly as Astarion ran his thumb along Gale’s cheek. The warmth of Gale’s skin felt comfortable, familiar. This was the closest they’d been, the most intimate and vulnerable. Warmth spread through his body, relief. Relief that Gale was here, actually here. This wasn’t some drunken hallucination. He noted as Gale’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into Astarion’s touch, he could note the muscles in the wizard’s body relaxing as he released a heavy sigh.

“No…no I have not been doing well since we, well, since we parted ways,” Astarion noted a soft quiver to the wizard’s words, his voice now dropped to a whisper,” I have not been able to stop thinking about you. The moments we shared. My mind has been in such turmoil that even the hunger of my orb has been little more than a dismissive buzz. I spent my time looking for you, everywhere. I found myself hoping to stumble across you when running errands.” Astarion could feel his throat tightening as he fought off the tears welling in his eyes. Everything he had felt for Gale was not unrequited, at least not fully.

“Well, yes, I suppose I found myself doing the same,” Astarion blinked a few times to stave off the tears that were threatening to spill over. He would not cry right now, not until he could feel confident in this. As much as he trusted Gale, he was still apprehensive of the wizard’s intentions. Not because of anything Gale has done, simply because of what he had to go through with Cazador, the things he had to do to survive. The dirty, horrible things.

Gale suddenly cleared his throat and stepped back, the cold air wrapping around Astarion’s hands once again. Astarion dropped his hands back at his side and noted that the wizard had the same apprehensions. Gale had been through just as much, Mystra’s manipulation of him…her eventual disregard for him. Anger flared up in Astarion’s chest, his arms tingling as his hands clenched into fists. If he ever got his hands on that worthless excuse for a goddess…

“Will you accompany me tonight?” Astarion was pulled from his rage filled thoughts and he felt himself giving Gale a blank stare. “I mean…,” Gale continued, "You're in no state to be out and I am staying somewhere very close. There’s more than one room so we wouldn’t have to share a bed, if that is something that would make you apprehensive. I just…I would like to know you’re safe. Just, sleep it off and you can leave in the morning.” Astarion suppressed his chuckle as he watched Gale speak. He still emphasized words with his hands and he watched as a soft blush broke out across the bridge of Gale’s nose and across his cheeks.

“Okay, wizard, I think I will take you up on this offer.” Astarion adjusted the bottom hem of his tunic, smoothed down the front of it with his shaky hands and followed Gale back to his dwellings.

Chapter Text

Gale could feel his heart pounding in his chest. His hands, though a bit chilled, mostly shook from pure nerves alone. He willed himself to take in even, controlled breaths. The sensation of Astarion’s chilled fingers against the stubble on his cheeks lingered. He had savored every second of it. The feeling of Astarion’s fingers against his face sent his mind spinning and a chill had snaked up his spine. His body felt almost weightless.

Gale recalled the moments he had spent with Astarion in camp, late at night., when the others had tucked themselves securely into their bedrolls. Gale knew Astarion would be awake when he visited him at his tent, filled his head with the notion that Astarion looked forward to seeing him. He never truly believed Astarion enjoyed his company, he figured the vampire spawn was simply bored and pitied him, like Gale was a stray dog. They would stay up for hours, though. He would sacrifice those precious moments of sleep to make memories with Astarion, even if he wondered if Astarion enjoyed the moments as much as he did.

They had shared small touches and subtle smiles. Astarion helping Gale lace up his armor, or cleaning his face of some mud. Fawning over him when he had gotten cuts and bruises. Gale would reach out and graze the vampire spawn’s hand with his own, almost on an instinct. It felt like his body had more control over his mind when Astarion was near. It needed to feel Astarion’s skin, hear his breath and listen to the flutter of his laugh. Watch him smooth his tongue over his fangs, or nip at his bottom lip when he was focusing on something. All of it felt intoxicating to him and he couldn’t quite place the feeling.

He never had these feelings with Mystra, he had loved her, yes. He still feels…something for her, but her touches and her smiles, felt so hollow. They didn’t feel dire. They did not make love, they did not have sex, they would fuck. There was savage and animalistic lust there, a desire to feel flesh on flesh, not fornicate as lovers. He felt nothing but lust for her in those moments, nothing more, and it only faded the more he sought out the power he now wields. Astarion’s presence made him feel lightweight, and made the world so full of color. He had seen nothing more than the scars on his back yet his heart was always fluttering around Astarion. His body yearned to feel Astarion’s, yearned to see his bare flesh so Gale could worship it, taste every surface of it and cry over the beauty of it. These feelings, though, filled him with fear. He does not know what lengths he would go to, where his mind would go, if he lost Astarion…permanently.

When their adventures together had finally come to an end, Gale’s stomach had hollowed out. He honestly hadn’t thought of the day coming, and he had not been able to find the courage to admit his feelings to Astarion, how deeply they affected him. He figured the vampire spawn would laugh at him, or exclaim that he did not feel the same. He watched as everyone said their goodbyes and headed their separate ways until it was just them. Neither of them had anywhere specific to go. They stared at each other, in that moment, and Gale had watched as Astarion opened his mouth, promptly closed it and then turned on his heels and walked away. Gale had felt his chest twinge, his stomach churning. He should have called out to Astarion in that moment, should have just told him in that damned moment. He had froze though, because he still wanted to allow Astarion the freedom to decide what he wanted to do.

The Hells damn him because he regretted it the second he did it. He wanted Astarion to have his freedom, but Gale wanted him to have his freedom with Gale included. He wanted to spend whatever years he had left of his human existence with Astarion. That would surely make them less miserable.

After they all had parted ways, Gale found himself lonely again. While Tara’s company was still appreciated, it did nothing to calm his desire to share his space, his bed, with the vampire spawn. His thoughts were consumed by Astarion. He dreamt of them entangled together. Felt the phantom of Astarion’s touch along his skin, wished he could feel his fingers trail down his chest, down…down…down.

Gale started as he pulled himself away from his recollections. The bustling cobblestone street came back into focus for him. Right. He took a deep breath, the cold air stinging his nose. The smell of booze and piss filling his senses. He was prone to these episodes of dissociation. After losing Mystra, a life threatening adventure and then losing Astarion, his mind had trouble remaining present most days. He often fell into his romanticization, would lose track of time or the task he was working on. He didn’t know if he hated it enough to be worried.

He glanced back at the pale elf, slightly stumbling, behind him. He knew Astarion was more drunk than he was giving on. He had noted the worry in the vampire spawn’s eyes when he took in Gale’s appearance. Gods, wait until he sees the clutter in his living space. He hadn’t been able to drudge up the energy to clean anything. He threw clothes and books wherever they would land. His clothes were wrinkled and probably had a stain or two on them. He knew Astarion would judge him heavily for the disrepair he and his living space were in.

There was a sudden clamor behind him and a muttered “shit” as he turned to see Astarion now on the ground. Tangled in some of the old wooden crates that are usually stacked up along the street. Gale suppressed his chuckle as he watched Astarion, who was already hauling himself back to his feet. He felt his shoulders relax and the corners of his mouth remained upturned as he watched the vampire spawn dust off his clothes, muttering profanities the whole time. A twinge of heat warmed his core, his face. He felt the tips of his ears grow warm as Astarion stood up straight, his eyes snapped to Gale.

The red of his iris almost seemed to shift and sway like a body of water. The light reflecting off of them almost makes them look like they’re glowing. Gale couldn’t stop himself from staring. The vampire spawn peers through his eyelashes and Gale’s breath hitches, he swears he can hear Astarion’s do the same. For a moment, that’s all they do. Stare at each other. Gale swore he could see Astarion’s eyes clear up, like he was relieved of his inebriation. Gale’s eyes flicked to every feature of Astarion’s face. His forehead, his eyebrows, his nose, his lips.

Gale saw the corners of Astarion’s mouth twitch up in amusement.

“You’re staring, darling,” the spawn goaded, his words thick with an emotion Gale couldn’t quite place. He felt that feeling in his stomach again, like it was bottoming out and his muscles were getting tight. He opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a stammer as he realized how sweaty his hands were. How sweaty his forehead must be, the slight sheen of his skin giving away his nerves.

“I…we’re almost there…,” Gale quickly turns on his heels, his back facing Astarion once again, as he begins walking. As they traversed from the bars, the cobblestone had become less ragged and worn. It had given way to cobblestone that was more of a warm gray than that of the tar black in the poorer area. The shops and buildings were laid in tan brick and had ornate tapestries and flags hanging over their door frames, gently flowing in the winds. The clamor of people died down and the street was utterly silent. The moon seemed to shine brighter here and Gale felt like he could finally take a deep breath of clean air. His nerves were still trying to best him.

“It’s here,” Gale stated, laying his hand on a doorknob of ornately twisted iron. He fumbled in his pocket for the heavy key that would unlatch the lock, and he felt Astarion’s presence grow closer to him. Astarion’s chest almost pressed against Gale’s back as the vampire spawn peeked over his shoulder to look at the doorknob, his eyes squinting and nose wrinkling as he focused.

“You live…in a flower shop?” Astarion inquired, his one eyebrow raised in question. Gale could feel the heat of Astarion’s breath brush against his cheek. Gale tensed, his face flushed as he turned to Astarion, his shoulder pressing into the vampire spawn’s chest. Gale noted how his eyes focused solely on him even in his drunken state. Their faces were so close now, mere inches. Astarion’s chest pressed further into Gale’s shoulder as he leaned closer. His face was so close. Gale could feel Astarion’s breath against his face, the air between them seemed to carry an electrical charge and all Gale wanted to do was take Astarion’s face in his hands and kiss him. Kiss him so deeply and so hungrily that there would be no questions about what his feelings were. Gale wanted to pull Astarion into the flower shop and kiss him amongst the arrangements. Wanted to push the bouquets to the floor and lift Astarion onto a display table. Gale wanted to put every emotion and moment and tear and laugh into the kisses. He wanted to put every fleeting touch and secretive glance into the kiss. He wanted to show Astarion how he felt. Gale blinked, his focus returning to the lock, as he ripped himself back into reality.

“I…well I rent the upstairs. The shopkeeper is an older woman, a kind woman, and she said she didn’t need all the storage space so she’d let me use it. She has such a way with the plants and I was enamored with her kindness…and her knack for flower keeping,” he finally located the key and slipped it into the lock, turning it and the satisfying click of the lock tumbling was enough for him to swing the door open, "I'm convinced she’s a druid but the woman persists she is simply a human who found love for flowers after the passing of her husband.” He noted Astarion’s soft snort of amusement as he spoke.

The heavy wooden door swings open and the intense scent of flowers wraps around him. As Gale leads Astarion in, he takes a deep breath. His nerves seemed to subside as he noted the conglomerate of sweet smells. He definitely had found much comfort in the quiet of this shop, the smells of it. Some days, he would help the woman water her plants and the smell of damp soil became something he enjoyed. It reminded him of camp nights. Nights when it would storm and Astarion would rush into Gale’s tent, breathless, dripping from the rain. Gale would simply open his arms, blanket already in hand as the vampire spawn would almost collapse into him. He would feel Astarion’s shivering, feel him start at the thunder. Those nights, Astarion would drift off to sleep in his arms and only then would he allow himself to drift into slumber. By the time he would wake up, Astarion would already be gone.

Gale felt himself blink back into the present, another episode. They were getting more frequent…more intense. He let out a long breath as he led Astarion up the old staircase that led directly to his room, the closed door directly at the top. The worn down wood groaned underneath their feet and as they grew closer Gale’s nerves returned. His stomach hollowed out as he realized the situation he had gotten himself into. Astarion was going to be in his room, drunk. The vampire spawn was barely steady on his feet and he assumed he wouldn’t be awake much longer. Gale had so much to talk to Astarion about, so much to tell him.

Gale’s shaky hand reached out and pushed open the door, "You first, I would like to make sure you make it up the final steps,” Gale chuckled as he looked back at Astarion, his nails digging into the wall as he swayed slightly, his eyes dropping.

“O…H! NOW you would like…you want to assist…me,” Astarion’s words slurred. As a result of his drunkenness and his exhaustion. Gale noted the relief in Astarion’s eyes, in his posture, as he stumbled up the last stairs, Gale placing his hand gently on his waist to guide him, to hopefully offer him a small comfort.

He trailed in after Astarion and noted how the vampire spawn stood almost within the center of the living space, the new candles Gale had set out that morning fluttering to life thanks to his magic, illuminating the space. Upon walking through the door they are directly greeted by the common area, the floors and walls all made of the same wood. Gale had placed a few cushioned chairs and rugs around the large room to try and lessen the amount of splinters he got in his feet. The old wood floor not quite accustomed to the wear of feet on its surface. There was a small kitchen that he rarely used, littered with old cups and empty bottles of gin and wine. The dining table was imposing, pushed against the wall next to the kitchen. It was absolutely cluttered in scribbled notes, opened books and loose pages he’d torn from other books. Pencils and old, useless candles scattered across the surface of the table. More candles also littered the windowsills, the wax trailing down the walls and leaving small pools of dried wax on the floor. To the left there was a wall with two doors, one led to his bedroom, which also housed the bathroom and the other was a small guest room with a twin sized bed and a small dresser. Gale opened the door to his room and whistled softly to get Astarion’s attention.

“Did you just…you whistled at me. Like a dog,” Astarion emphasized the word dog with a slight hiss as he slowly turned to face Gale. His eyebrows raised in disbelief and…amusement. Gale felt the corners of his mouth lift, one of his first genuine smiles in a while. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he looked over Astarion’s features. He was still beautiful. Little had changed about the vampire spawn. His silver hair still fell flawlessly around his face, his cheekbones still sharp and his lips…gods his lips. Gale yearned to know what they felt like against his. Wanted to feel the trail of Astarion’s tongue against his, the soft muscles fighting for dominance. Gale cleared his throat, ridding his brain of the image, the yearning for Astarion.

“I was simply whistling, old friend. The bathroom is through here, unfortunately there is only one and it’s attached to my room. The door there,” Gale nodded his chin towards the closed door adjacent to the one to his room,” that is the guest bed. You are free to freshen up or simply go to bed. I have a few things to attend to but if you need anything, I will be right out here.”

Astarion simply stared at Gale, and it made the wizard freeze. He stared back, captivated by Astarion’s eyes. He always had been. Red, accentuated by the ivory of his skin and the subtle bluish tint around his eyes. How he missed looking at him. Sneaking glances and just...admiring him. Not in the way he was used to, not in the way someone would view him as an object. Oftentimes, Gale would find himself wondering how he became so lucky to encounter Astarion. How he was lucky enough to earn part of Astarion’s trust. Enough trust that the vampire spawn felt comfortable telling him about his sexual trauma, about his desires and future plans, about his hobbies.

Gale turned away first, bee lining for the cluttered table full of notes and strewn about books. He could have sworn he saw the vampire spawn frown, his shoulders sag, as Astarion made his way through Gale’s room, to the bathroom. Gale could hear the bathroom door close with a soft thud. Gale braced his hands on the table, breathing heavily, his arms shaking. Despite the comfortable temperature of the living space, Gale felt sweat beading on his forehead. What was he supposed to do? What could he even say to Astarion?

Since they had parted ways, Gale’s waking and sleeping moments were filled with the thought of Astarion. He would see things that would remind him of the vampire spawn, smell something that almost made him think Astarion was nearby. His dreams were full of intimate moments, things he wished he had done with Astarion. There was many a time he would wake up and his cock would throb, the dream awakening his desires for the vampire spawn. He would finish himself quickly, his own cum coating his abdomen and chest as he would call out for Astarion. Some mornings, he would wake up and already be covered in his own cum. Those dreams he would hold onto. He would reflect on them and hope that somehow Astarion might visit him in his dreams. How he would always kiss him softly on the cheeks, the nose, before pressing his lips to Astarion’s. The kiss would deepen, he would feel Astarion’s body melt into his. The tense muscles now palpable to his touch, Astarion would feel safe. Gale would take Astarion by the hips and turn him around, coax his body back to his, Astarion’s ass would press into Gale’s cock and tease…tease…tease…

Gale inhaled sharply as he was thrust back into the present. The flickering light of the candles helped him focus on the papers in front of him. Dreams…he was thinking about…dreams. He could feel the effect remembering those dreams had on him now. His skin was warm and there was a tension in his core as he felt his semi-hard cock pressing into the seam of his pants. The slight throbbing of his cock made the harsh fabric of his pants scrape along the head, a shiver running up his spine. It felt like the universe was teasing him. For a while now he had been actively looking for Astarion so that he could finally divulge his feelings, his intentions with the vampire spawn and instead, he finds Astarion wasted in a damp, piss covered alley.

Gale had faltered when he had reached that alley earlier this evening. He knew Astarion was there, but he hadn’t seen if the vampire spawn was following someone down the alley. It took him many deep breaths before he dared turning the corner into the alley, feigning shock at finding the vampire spawn. He had been terrified he would find the spawn balls deep in another being. Jealous of the possible sounds he would hear coming from the spawn’s mouth. Sounds he wanted to keep to himself, sounds he wanted to make come out of Astarion’s mouth. A twinge of anxiety had ripped through his chest as he called out, and he noted Astarion scrambling to conceal himself…only himself. Relief had flooded Gale in that moment and now…here they were. Astarion was piss drunk in his living space and Gale had a persistent hard on.

Gale glanced around the cluttered dining room table and began to organize the papers. Attempting to distract his mind from the dissociations, from the idea of Astarion’s body pressed to his. Gale didn’t know how much time had passed when he took a step back, pleased with the neat piles of paper and books that now rested on the surface of the table. Not completely clean but in far less disorder than it had been before. Gale smiled in satisfaction as he looked upon his work, relieved that he had distracted himself enough to have gone flaccid again. He rubbed his hands together and smoothed his hair back as he realized the exhaustion of his body. All of his limbs were heavy and it was now a task to keep his eyes open. The candle's flames extinguished one at a time, the only ones that stayed lit were on the kitchen counter, in case he woke up and found himself wandering.

Gale’s head felt like static and it was difficult to decipher one thought from another. From his racing thoughts about Astarion to his next plan of attack. Trying to decipher his feelings while also trying to decode Astarion’s body language and demeanor. It left Gale feeling lost…wandering in an endless woods in the dark that happened to also be covered in dense fog. Gale rubbed at the stubble on his chin as he ventured into his room, the dark environment already beginning to lull him to sleep. The wizard began disrobing, enjoying the freedom of his nakedness. He had found that sleeping in clothes often made him feel constricted and it reminded him that he had to be ready to go at a moment's notice. He enjoyed the slight chill of the air as it nipped at his bare skin and the plushness of the blankets when he would crawl into bed. He let out a satisfied sigh as the thought of cocooning himself in the blankets almost filled him with pure excitement.

Then he heard it…the soft, level breathing of another body. He completely froze. He softly muttered an incantation to grant himself dark vision, the details of his room becoming clear as he felt his eyes shift and adapt to seeing in the darkness. Lying across his bed, a blanket strewn haphazardly across him, was Astarion. He was on his stomach, his face resting into one of the pillows, causing the vampire spawn to snore softly. Gale blinked, surprise forcing him to step away from the bed. The blanket covered Astarion’s back and just barely covered his ass. His pale, muscled legs were completely exposed and his arms were tucked under the pillow, as if he had fallen asleep hugging it. Gale took a deep breath, trying to still his pounding heartbeat, as he felt his face flush. He had assumed Astarion had just quietly stalked into the guest room when he had finished cleaning himself. Gale had been so engrossed in his cleaning he wouldn’t have noticed.

Gale’s body trembled, whether from nerves or the cool air, he was unsure. He knew he needed to lie down, get some sleep and hope he would be awake early enough to catch Astarion before his inevitable leave. He inched closer to the bed again, scared that he might startle Astarion awake. Gale allowed himself to settle into bed, careful to not jostle the mattress too much as he lay on his side, taking in the sight of Astarion. His features were neutral, peaceful. Gale wished there was a window in his room so he could see the moonlight cast upon Astarion’s sleeping features. He willed himself closer to Astarion. His chest rubbing against the vampire spawn’s elbow and he watched as Astarion shifted, moving closer. The vampire spawn’s face was nestled in the middle of his chest, his body pressed against Gale’s, and Gale felt the confirmation of Astarion’s nakedness pressed into his hip.

Gale felt himself twitch in response, willing himself to not get hard in this moment. His heart rate quickened again and his nerves flared as he attempted to steady his pounding heart and keep his thoughts pure so as to not have his arousal poke into Astarion. Fearing that Astarion would feel it, hear his heartbeat, now that his face was nestled into Gale’s chest. Gale brought his arm up, laying it lazily around Astarion’s waist and he heard the vampire spawn softly utter something in his sleeping state. Gale couldn’t help but tighten his arm around Astarion, pulling his body closer. The planes of their bodies were flush against each other, skin to skin and Gale pressed his lips to the top of Astarion’s head. How he had yearned for this, craved it. Now that he had it, what was he to do? How could he preserve it…how could he even express how much he needed this consistently in his life. He needed Astarion in his life.

Gale’s eyes had fluttered closed and his breathing had evened out as sleep began to blanket him. His breathing matching Astarion’s as he felt himself melt against the vampire spawn, bliss and genuine safety and comfort overtaking him. He had not felt this secure in a very long time…a very long time. How would he explain this to Astarion in the morning? The tangle of their bodies, their nakedness. He pushed the inquiry from his mind, telling himself Astarion would sneak away before he would have a chance to explain anyway. He kissed the top of Astarion’s head once more, before sleep overtook him. That night, he did not dream.

Chapter Text

The pounding in Astarion’s head is what jolted him to a conscious state. Throbbing, excruciating throbbing behind his eyes, at the base of his skull. The pain made him groan, nausea churning his stomach, and the feeling of the room spinning was making the bile in his stomach rise. Where was he? What happened? His mind was a medley of music, shouting, and blurry memories. When he tried to manifest a memory, tried to focus on it, he was met with a sharp pain in his head. Astarion rubbed at his temples, the slight pressure a nice reprieve for the pounding in his head. Where the hells was he?

He remembered the tavern. His intentions to get insanely drunk and sleep with another person. He supposed the former part of his intentions worked wonderfully, otherwise he wouldn’t feel this way. The latter though…Astarion stiffened as he felt the telltale warmth of another body as it shuffled beside him. The specifics of his surroundings started coming into focus. His eyes adjusting in the darkness as he slowly sat up, his stomach protesting the action as he pressed his back against the rough wooden wall. Astarion closed his eyes again, the vertigo returning full force and he began to take a deep breath and then…that scent. He knew that scent. It invaded his nostrils, but this time it wasn’t being overshadowed by the faint smell of body odor and dirt. Gale’s scent, fresh and clean filled his nose and his entire body stiffened as last night's memories breached his mind.

Gale had found him…somehow Gale had found him and Gale had led Astarion back to the place he was staying. Astarion rubbed his temples, remembering the slight teasing they both had done last night. How embarrassingly drunk he had been. He recalled how much he had wanted to touch the wizard…kiss him. When Gale had pointed out the bathroom Astarion had beelined towards it, because he knew if he had stayed in that room with Gale his control would have slipped. Just a moment longer of hearing the wizard speak so casually, so flirtatiously, and he would have revealed to Gale just what seeing the wizard did to him. He had been fighting off the throbbing of his cock as Gale had been addressing the layout of the space. It had throbbed and pulsed the whole time and Astarion had kept having to shuffle around to try and stop his pants from exciting him more. He had wished Gale would have touched him; at least then he would have had an excuse for his erection.

The moment Astarion had the seclusion of the small bathroom he had freed himself and finished what he had started in that damp alley. He stroked himself, his cock had already been dripping with precum and he slicked his shaft even further by dribbling a trail of saliva onto the base. He had covered his mouth with his freehand, not trusting himself to not moan out the wizard's name as he stroked himself. He was blissfully relieved Gale had not come to check on him. He would have bent himself over and begged the wizard to take him. Gale’s scent had invaded his nostrils while he stroked himself. Astarion remembers the tightness in his stomach as his release approached, the hitch in his breath as he came. The warmth splattered across his stomach with each pulse of his cock, dripping down the base and traveling over his hand. Never had he produced so much cum, experienced a release as intense as the one he had last night.

Astarion’s cock throbbed slightly at the memory, almost like a plea to experience it again. He remembered cleaning himself and then stumbling out of the bathroom to collapse on the bed. After he had sunk into the comfortable bed, engulfed by the smell of Gale, his thoughts seemed to steady. He remembered feeling safe here, warm and protected. His vile thoughts almost seemed to taint the energy of this dwelling and for that, he felt bad. Before he had had a chance to move to the spare room last night, his body had slipped into an unconscious state.

Astarion let out a long sigh and glanced at the body next to him. Gale’s steady breathing was like a metronome, the wizard’s scent wrapped around Astarion. The vampire spawn could hear the flutter of Gale’s heart. It was accelerated…and Astarion felt a twist in his chest. Was Gale having a nightmare? Should he wake him up? Maybe he should just leave. He figured Gale’s invitation last night was out of sheer pity and that their encounter was purely coincidental. He couldn’t imagine why Gale would take time out of his studies to look for Astarion. The wizard had probably been searching for a woman to bed that night, or maybe a new tome to hunch over and study.

Astarion raised his hand to place on the wizard’s bare shoulder, light scars stark against his light olive complexion, cutting across an almost imperceptible patch of freckles splattered across his skin. Astarion found himself marveling at them. How had the wizard gotten such scars, he was so meticulous that it seemed that he would not allow himself to get so much as a splinter while rifling through old bookshelves. Then again…Gale was so focused when he observed things that Astarion would not be surprised if Gale caught himself on fire without noticing.

The corners of Astarion’s mouth twitched up in amusement. Recalling the moments he had caught the wizard deep in studies. Nothing would be able to shake Gale while he was nose deep in an ancient book, even one he had skimmed thrice over. Before Astarion could give it much thought, he ran his fingers along the scars; the tell-tale raise of the traumatized tissue pressing into the soft skin of his fingertips. Astarion felt the heat of his cheeks flushing as he marveled at the wizard’s skin. This was possibly the most vulnerable Gale had been with him. Even when they spent those nights together at camp, they remained clothed and distant.

Astarion’s vision started swimming as tears welled in his eyes. Tears…why? Gods why was he so emotional right now? Astarion rests his hand on Gale’s arm, the warmth of the wizard’s flesh seeping into his palm and sending a prickling sensation up his arm. Gale was so close…he was here and he was real. Astarion could hardly believe it. Now that his initial hangover was subsiding, his thoughts becoming less muddled, he could not help but feel emotional. The nights he had yearned to be next to this specific body, this soul. Astarion closed his eyes and let out a soft, shuddered breath as he felt the heavy tears fall from his eyes and land onto the coarse blanket. How close had he come to just ending himself. Leading himself into oblivion, night after night, scrounging his consciousness for the faintest memories of this soul that now slumbered beside him. How Astarion’s body had always yearned to feel Gale’s skin, run his fingers through his hair, feel the wizard’s lips against his own. How he yearned to share body heat, panting breaths and sweat with the wizard.

“You’re still here…” the gentleness of Gale’s voice startled Astarion, his hand reeling away from the wizard as he bunched up the blanket in his lap, embarrassed by his nakedness, his vulnerability in front of the wizard.

“I, well…I was simply considering if I should take a bite out of you for breakfast,” Astarion quipped back, willing his eyes to dry. His fingers bunching tighter into the blanket as Gale sits up, the hair of his chest glistening slighting with sweat. Astarion quickly flicks his eyes away as he feels the subtle swell of his cock, the sight of Gale’s glistening skin sending a twitch down his shaft that had his stomach tightening.

Astarion’s heart flutters as Gale chuckles while rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms, "You wouldn’t have hesitated to consider if that is what you really wanted.” Astarion gaped at the wizard, his mouth parting slightly, his eyebrows raising in slight amusement at the wizard’s retort.

“I think you are a little overconfident, darling,” Astarion scoffs, "I simply was weighing if it would be worth it. I’ve concluded that based on the near squalor you live in, it would not be worth my palette, or my time.” Astarion glares down at his fingernails, picking at some imperceptible speck of dirt underneath them. Making his hands busy, his eyes busy. Out of his peripheral, he could see Gale smoothing back his hair, taking deep breaths. Astarion could smell the sweat on Gale, as well as his nerves. Astarion peeked at Gale from under his lashes and could see sweat beaded on the wizard’s forehead, patches of his hair slightly damp with it.

Astarion inhaled sharply through his nose, running his tongue along his teeth before he spoke, "Do you always sweat this much? It’s embarrassing.” Astarion willed his voice to be steady. He could not let Gale pick up on his worry, the desperation he felt at needing to know if Gale was okay. Maybe Gale was sick…an issue with his orb? Gods if that is what takes Gale from him after all this time, Astarion would lose himself.

“Just a, um, well a nightmare…” the wizard answered hesitantly. There was no soft amusement in his words and when Astarion settled his eyes on Gale’s face, the wizard’s eyes held no warmth. His eyes were glazed over, like he was lost in deep thought.

“Well, tell me about it? If you need to…want to. I won’t go running off and telling others.”

Gale tensed, his hands curling into fists, enough to turn his knuckles white,” While your sentiment is appreciated, I would rather keep it to myself.”

Astarion felt his heart sink, the nausea from his liquor consumption returning. Gale used to tell him everything. They used to sit and talk for hours about everything and nothing. What they wanted to do when their whole tadpole fiasco was over, hobbies they wanted to revisit or learn, anything…everything. Now, why wouldn’t Gale talk to him? Clearly Gale’s supposed nightmare had rattled him, left him sweaty and unsettled. Astarion could feel his frustration bubbling, his anger at Gale’s reluctance to talk to him.

“Oh, so my company is no longer beneficial to you, hm?” Astarion felt his chest tighten more at his own words. Astarion realizes his irrationality right now, and this was not about him, but Gods be damn he would act like it didn’t still hurt him a little bit.

Gale turned to Astarion, his brow furrowing,” What? That is not it at all. I know it has been some time, my friend, but-”

“But you probably have someone else to talk about this nightmare with, yes?” Astarion felt his skin growing hot. He knew his anger was fueled mostly by the hangover, the remnants of liquor in his system. He usually had a small drink the next morning to level him out and he didn’t have that now. Beyond that though, why wasn’t he good enough for Gale’s trust anymore? Why wouldn’t Gale talk to him, tell him what was bothering him. Had he put too much hope into those late night visits? Those subtle glances? Had he really just mistook Gale’s actions as attraction? The pressure behind Astarion’s eyes returned as his reeling thoughts had his head pounding again.

“No, that’s not it either,” Gale’s voice cut through Astarion’s thoughts,” I simply don’t want to talk about it right now. That is all.” Astarion could sense the frustration in the wizard’s words, the rigid nature of his body and it only made Astarion’s nerves flare more. Astarion could feel his anger bubbling in his chest, the heat of it rolling over his skin causing pin-pricks to trail down his spine and along his arms. He knew he was being irrationally and insanely unfair to the wizard. This was not information for him, but damned the gods, he wanted to know. He wanted to help Gale, comfort him.

“You used to talk to me about everything. What’s so different now,” Astarion felt the sharp edge of his words as he nearly spat them at Gale. Astarion watched as Gale’s body tensed, the muscles in his arms shifting and flexing as Gale clenched and unclenched his hands.

“We are not the same as we were, Astarion,” Gale’s voice was firm, yet he avoided eye contact, "there are parts of me that died on that journey. Parts of me that I lost and will never be able to conjure up again. There are clothes, colors, scents and sensations that make me want to empty my stomach of its contents and beg for forgiveness from anything higher than I.”

Gale inhaled, his arms shaking as he finally unclenched his hands while he did, his shoulders sagging. Astarion watched as Gale seemed to fall into thought again, Gale’s eyes vacantly fixated on his upturned hands resting on his lap. After a beat, his voice broke the silence again,” I can still feel blood on my skin. The scent of it. How it cooled against my skin and flaked under my fingernails. The deep stain of it along my tunics and robes. Pages of my books splattered in it…books I stole from looted villages and poor beggars. I feel like…I feel like a monster sometimes.” Gale growled out the last sentence, choking out his spite filled words.

Astarion felt his heart breaking for Gale. How long had it been since he went through this same mental break? The nights he would sit in the dark and stare at his hands, covered in the blood of people. Grandparents, wives, husbands…children. The nights Cazador would demand more, more and more. Astarion would deliver, he couldn’t afford not to. Astarion would sit and question what parts of his humanity would die first.

His compassion went first. It became replaced with survival. Astarion learned to detach himself from the begs for mercy, and he ignored the bartering. All Astarion could do was focus on staying alive, staying in as good of Cazador’s graces that he could manage. Astarion would sit and stare at the scraps Cazador would feed him for dinner and he would try to feel bad, angry with himself, devastated…but he couldn’t. He only felt grateful that he was existing another day.

Astarion watched Gale for a moment as he relived those moments in time, those miserable years he is forced to call his existence. Astarion’s memories slowly melted into the warmth and light that the moments with Gale gave him. Those moments that kept him sane. The tightness in Astarion’s chest grew as Gale’s words echoed in his head. Monster. Is that how Gale viewed Astarion? When Astarion had been one of the few to not bat an eye at the bloodshed. One to look so nonchalant when it came to washing the physical blood from his hands. Astarion always projected his malice, grace and ruthlessness when he needed to. What the others in camp didn’t see was his retching and the nights he would sit alone, out of breath, curled in a ball as the memories of torn apart families and scorched corpses of infants fluttered through his mind. Gale even rarely saw those moments. He did not know how to allow the wizard into that part of his mind. The depth at which the trauma lingered there was too much for Astarion to confront…even all these years later.

Suddenly, the small space of the room seemed unbearable. Gale was too close and too far at the same time and Astarion couldn’t breathe. The air in the room felt heavy and damp, impossible to inhale. Astarion could feel his hands beginning to shake as he hastily began tugging his clothes back on, practically falling off the bed in the process.

“Where are you-” Gale began to inquire, but Astarion had already tugged on his boots, not bothering to lace them all the way. He’d worry about it later. He needed to leave. Needed to get out. Gale thought himself a monster…was terrified of himself. How could Astarion ever face him knowing the treacherous horrors he committed prior to slaying hundreds more in their recent adventure. Astarion would not subject Gale to that…couldn't allow his past to taint the fragile image he’d already tried to paint of himself to Gale.

“I must get going. Thank you for your hospitality. It was appreciated old friend,” Astarion’s words came out in a rush. His mouth stuttered over the syllables as he focused on the door. He needed to get out…he needed to get out.

“But the sun…”

“I’ll manage,” Astarion nearly hissed back as he slipped out of the door, leaving no room for Gale to negotiate.

Astarion was gone before Gale even had a chance to stumble out of bed, leaving a cool breeze in his wake.

Chapter Text

Gale could only stare at the spot where Astarion had been, his mouth slightly agape and his body frozen in the spot where he had gotten up to move towards the vampire spawn. The whispers of words melted away on his tongue as he realized Astarion had fled and they left an acrid taste in his mouth. The wizard could feel the shaking in his hand, that distinct tremor. What just…happened. There was peaceful sleep and closeness, the next Astarion was bolting like Gale was some repulsive entity.

Gale lowered himself back onto the bed, his knees threatening to give out. He could feel his mind wandering, threatening to disembody from his physical being. He couldn’t quiet his thoughts…couldn’t stop his whole body from trembling. He didn’t even know where to begin to dissect that interaction. Jarring, that was absolutely jarring. All because he couldn’t tell Astarion the truth, the nature of his thoughts last night and because he…because Gale thought himself a monster. Maybe…maybe his remark sparked a realization in Astarion and maybe that’s why the vampire spawn left with barely any words.

Gale closed his eyes, clenching and unclenching his clammy hands to try and steady the trembling in them. His thoughts swam, the anxiety building in him was making him nauseous. Gale tried to focus on the nature of his thoughts…what made him feel like an abomination, what he had said that would fill Astarion with fear…with nerves. He could barely focus through the blips of the vulgarities of his thoughts last night.

He had been close to Astarion, in sleep and in his thoughts. He could feel the pressure of Astarion’s body against him. The cool, smooth skin of him pressed to the warmth of Gale’s own. Gale had fantasized about Astarion’s body while he slept, Gale remembered watching the spawn, who’s back had been to him. Gale studied the scars on Astarions back, but instead of tracing those scars, Gale traced the skin between those cursed words, light enough not to wake Astarion. The skin Astarion could feel, not the rigged and nerve dead skin of the leash Cazador had once had on the spawn, had carved into Astarion’s skin.

Then Gale’s mind wandered, whether it was a hallucination of the weave or a dream, he couldn’t quite tell now but Gale remembers the shudder of Astarion’s body as he slowly traced the pale skin. Gale remembers time passing suddenly and then there was Astarion, on top of him. Gale’s hands anchored to Astarion’s hips, the vampire spawn flushed, sweaty and panting. Gale had noted his own breathing in his thoughts, ragged and primal. Gale remembered feeling Astarion’s nails digging into the sweat-slicked skin of his chest, a sensual and exciting pain springing up where Astarion’s nails scratched against his skin. Gale remembers his head tilting back, his damp hair plastering to his neck as he felt the release of ecstasy…pleasure…climax. It was enough to wake him up, worried that he would awaken to the warm sensation of cum on his stomach, in his blanket, but he just awoke to sweat-slicked skin and Astarion, who had been sitting on the bed.

Then Astarion asked…damned the Gods he asked and Gale could not bring himself to admit to the vulgarities he committed on Astarion’s body in his mind. The vulgarities he wished he could reenact on Astarion in their waking hours. Gale had frozen, he didn’t know what to tell Astarion. He had noted the sweat on his skin, the way his hair was slightly dampened and he had worked his best to smooth it out of his face, off his neck. A nightmare he had said, a lie. A plain lie because he could not bring himself to tell Astarion he had dreamt of something exquisite, something that raced through Gale’s mind so consistently he had finally manifested it in his mind. Feeling the smooth and sturdy presence of the vampire spawn had been one of many things he had wished he partook in back when they had adventured together.

Gale felt the tightness in his chest now, the regret and guilt at the argument that persisted after. Astarion had gotten upset, argumentative, because Gale refused to tell him about the “nightmare”. Gale was too embarrassed to tell Astarion about it, too nervous. Then Gale remembered everything he had done on their adventures, besides that of the happenings in camp. He had snapped, lost in the thoughts of the people he had killed and stolen from. The dead bodies he had simply walked over and became accustomed to. It scared him, even now and all he did was push people away because of it. The only person he had allowed himself to trust was the old woman who owned the flower shop just below him. Then, the next thing Gale had known…Astarion was gone and Gale’s heart sank. Gale remembered the time he met Astarion.

He had felt intensely for the vampire spawn shortly after being welcomed into the rag tag group of vagabonds and adventurers. Gale had noted the slight sneer Astarion had given him when Tav welcomed Gale to camp. Distrust had shown on Astarion’s face but also…fear. Astarion’s eyes had glinted with fear and uncertainty, disguised so well by his nonchalant attitude.

Astarion had been right about Gale telling him everything. Astarion was the one person Gale trusted almost all of his feelings with. Tav had poked and prodded for information, but that was for the means of keeping the entourage safe. Tav had feelings for Shadowheart, and spent most of their time engaging in conversation, laughter, and sex with her. Astarion had actually sought out Gale first. After the night Tav had connected the dots about Astarion’s vampirism affliction, Gale felt compelled to tell Tav about the Netherese Orb but was still scared about the backlash it could receive from the others.

Gale remembers the night vividly. The vampire spawn had sauntered into Gale’s tent, a deep frown on his face, his brows knitted together. Gale had been startled initially, closed the tome he had been fingering through and sat up on his bedroll. Gale remembers staring at Astarion for a beat, the soft flicker of the few candles Gale had lit for reading now danced and slithered across Astarion’s features. The warm glow of the firelight caressed the angular features of the vampire spawn.

“Don’t you need an invitation to come into my home?” the wizard had light-heartedly joked but Gale remembers Astarion only frowning deeper, the scowl on his face now angled directly at Gale.

“You call these hovels for tents home?” Astarion had seethed back, a sharp bite to his words,” I came here, well…I don’t know exactly. You seemed like the most understanding of the bunch, I suppose.” Astarion’s features had softened as he spoke, as he had seemed to realize Gale might be the only genuine companion he has in this camp now.

“Though these tents are rather precarious, it is better than being exposed to the elements,” Gale patted the empty space on his bedroll, a silent invitation. The vampire spawn had refused the invite by simply sitting where he had been standing, directly across from Gale. The bright red of Astarion’s eyes had danced in the candlelight, like brilliant rubies that you would find in the most exquisite jewelry shop in Baldur’s Gate. Gale had known he was staring but Astarion seemed to not be very bothered by it.

“I just…you probably think me a monster now? Like I’ll bite your neck while you sleep…,” Astarion trailed off like the notion of being treated like a monster ran his mouth dry. There was a slight quiver of his bottom lip that Gale chose not to address, he wishes he had.

“I do not think you a monster, Astarion,”Gale spoke softly, the candlelight highlighting the subtle look of surprise on Astarion’s face,”We all have our secrets. We do not know each other but for you to be truthful when confronted, now that…that takes a lot of courage.”

“Oh please,” Astarion snorted,”hardly even, I just wanted…I felt like…I felt like I would be safe telling everyone.”

There it was. The first vulnerability Astarion had offered Gale. Astarion had vaguely expounded on his past, how he was not allowed to talk freely, think freely for himself. Gale sat and listened, he wanted to listen. When AStarion’s shoulders had sagged, that stress and tension relieving even if only slightly Gale felt compelled to confide in Astarion as well. He told the vampire spawn everything. His relationship with Mystra, his selfishness and his downfall. Gale told Astarion about the orb and Astarion only nodded. Gods he had only nodded, like learning you’re bunking with a walking bomb was everyday information. When Gale was finished, Astarion had gotten up, thanked Gale for the considerate ear and left to hunt for the night. Gale had ended up tossing and turning all night and as soon as they had packed up camp and gotten ready to continue on their journey, Gale had told everyone about the orb.

Gale remembers still being terrified to tell everyone. His hands, which he had gripped firmly on the straps of his pack, had still shook. Gale remembers staring at the ground as he spoke, hearing everyone’s rebuttals, questions and concerned outbursts. The only one who had not said anything was Astarion. The one time Gale had glanced up at Astarion, there was a glint in his eyes and a small smile on his lips, understanding and…pride. After Gale sacrificed the information about his affliction, they began their journey once more. Astarion had lingered, placed his hand on Gale’s shoulder and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze before sauntering off to follow the rest of the group.

Gale’s head swam as he blinked himself into reality again. He was still naked, chilled in the old room. The lack of Astarion’s presence made the room seem so empty, too quiet. Gale’s mind sang with memories and things he wished he had told the vampire spawn. He wished he hadn't lied about the dream. Gale had simply feared that his honesty would scare the spawn off. Out of all their instances in camp, not once did they approach each other physically. Gale simply deemed him not Astarion’s type, too boring…perhaps too human. Fragile, both physically and mentally compared to Astarion, and he would age. With Astarion not being a true vampire, there was no way for him to turn Gale into a spawn so they would have hopes of existing in the same life cycle. Gale would perish much sooner…unless he figured something else out. Gale stood, his body moving before his mind could formulate a cohesive plan.

Gale needed to find Astarion. The sun was up, there was bustle in the streets and markets and Astarion had not fed since…he didn’t even know. Gale riffled through his dresser, finding a comfortable pair of trousers and a light, flowy shirt to go out in. The light fabric would make traversing the city less of a hassle, as Gale tucked in his shirt and secured his trousers, he found his old, worn in boots and slid them onto his feet. The boots came up to his knees and he had various patches of leather covering them in hopes to keep them together. Once his boots were tied, Gale secured a weathered, leather crossbody satchel across his chest that contained some scrolls, potions and herbs. He secured half of his hair up into a messy bun, seeing as he wouldn’t shower this morning.

Gale hurried out of his room, the deadbolt snapping into place as Gale muttered an incantation. It was still early enough that the flower shop wasn’t open, the old woman was probably on her way to water the plants and open the windows. Gale felt bad to leave her to the work on her own, but he knew she would understand his absence. Gale noted to himself that he would bring her back some seedlings and one of her favorite treats as an apology. Gale left the flower shop, making sure to lock up behind him and he steadied his breathing as he felt the first rays of sunlight hit his back. Gale closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath, calming his nerves and using his energy to focus on his task at hand. He needed to find Astarion, he needed to get Astarion somewhere safe…and he needed to tell Astarion the truth, all of it. Gale took a deep breath, he found Astarion once and he would do it again, he would check the shaded alleys first and the taverns next. Brothels, bathhouses and decrepit inns were also on his list. Gale gripped the strap of his satchel and started his trek through the city for Astarion.

Chapter Text

I feel like a monster sometimes. The echo of Gale’s words rattled in Astarion’s mind. Monster, monster, monster, monster. Over and over and over and over again. Each time he heard Gale’s voice reverberate in his mind it started to feel more like an accusation. The words became more hostile, dripping with disgust and flooded with malice until all Astarion could hear was a cacophony of screams in his mind. Past victims pleading for their lives, his brothers and sisters screaming in the depths of that wretched manor…his own screams. Monster, monster, monster, monster!

Astarion felt like he was suffocating. The muscles in his chest burned and his knuckles ached from clenching his hands so tightly, he was surprised his nails hadn’t drawn blood from his palms. Astarion felt his nostrils flare as a headache began to bloom around his skull, the voices growing louder…louder. Astarion pressed his body close to the shops and little markets, keeping to the shadows. He needed to get inside somewhere, a bar…a brothel. For once in his miserable second existence Astarion wanted to find one of those deplorable businesses simply to escape the sunlight, the bustle and the stares of strangers.

Astarion could navigate these streets easily, he had been doing it for some time now, but usually when all the businesses are closed and the patrons are sleeping. All of the bodies navigating around each other wasn’t foreign to him, but it was definitely more of a nuisance for Astarion especially when all he wanted was to silence the voices culminating in his mind. Monster. Astarion pushed his way past families and men bartering with each other, women picking out delicate hats and children trying to goad a vendor out of snacks and candies. Astarion felt his body collide with most of them, their gasps of disapproval or grunts of protest. Where is it…where is it…

Monster. Monster. Monster.

Astarion’s eyes finally saw the scuffed door of one of his usual haunts, a brothel that stayed particularly dark and resided on the outskirts of town. The brick on one side of the old building had been smoothed down from the constant barrage of water splashing against its surface. The dark wood of the heavy door had various scuffs and scratches on it that caught on his finger pads as he pushed it open. Astarion stumbled into the dim building, willing himself to take deep breaths, steadying the heaving of his chest.

The smell of sweat and lust were heavy in the air of the brothel. The humid warmth of bodies in the throes of passion made the environment uncomfortable. It willed, almost insisted, that the patrons strip off layers, bare themselves to this passion. Astarion could feel the sweat beading on his face, under his lip, along his hairline. He wasn’t accustomed to the humidity anymore. Astarion had more often spent his nights in bars and taverns than he did brothels anymore. He much preferred being drunk and delirious, stumbling through the night and not remembering the morning than trying to will Gale out of his mind as he tried to bed strangers.

Astarion remembered the first times he had found himself here. He didn’t know where to go, what to do with himself. Cazador had been slain, the other spawn sent free into the Underdark. Astarion did not have to answer to anyone anymore and there was no impending time clock of a parasite writhing behind his eye. Astarion didn’t have a purpose anymore. He had succeeded in saving the world, succeeded in being free from Cazador, succeeded in freeing the others of their woe. Astarion remembers splitting ways with everyone and the first thing he did was wander to a brothel to try and drink and fuck himself into oblivion.

Astarion remembers sitting and watching the dancers, the bar maids and the escorts. Each one seduced patrons with their eyes, the curve of their lips and the sway of their hips. A few would saunter past Astarion, running their nails along his pale neck or twirling a strand of his platinum hair between their pampered fingers. Tease after tease and yet Astarion felt…little. There was little flutter in his stomach or nerve that had his chest heaving in anticipation. He would rarely feel the persistence of his cock against his buckled trousers. All Astarion would find himself doing is thinking about that gods damned wizard. Astarion would picture Gale among the dancers, slips of fabric secured to Gale’s body only by that of dainty silver chains and intricately designed leather straps. Astarion would picture the twinkle of Gale’s earrings, illuminated by the flickering candlelight, a beacon in this smokey and humid environment.

He pictured the way Gale’s hips would sway and tease, the fabric slipping just enough to tease the sight of what it was meant to cover. Astarion would let out shuddering sighs at the thought of it and his whole body would spark and flare with excitement at the thought of Gale standing in front of him. Astarion would often imagine it just being the two of them. There was no one besides them in the entire brothel, Hells, in the entire world. Sound and light bent to the will of Gale’s body and the room would fade away as Astarion focused only on the wizard. The way Gale’s fingers would have run across his own body, refined and educated and meticulously calculated to glide along particular parts. Astarion would envision the wizard coming closer to him and that’s when Astarion would perk up. He would feel his anticipation in the crotch of his pants and as the dancing envisionment of the wizard would come closer…closer…and closer still…he would realize it was not Gale at all. Astarion would realize that he had been staring and he had been fantasizing and that his excitement came from a place of complete and utter yearning…and desperation.

Astarion would still let the dancers grind on him, press themselves into his hardness and run their delicate fingers underneath his clothes. He would still watch them as they would stand again, grabbing him gently by the wrist, coaxing him to a private room and Astarion would still follow. Astarion would still disrobe once he was in that room, alone and he would watch and scrutinize as the dancer did the same. Laid bare for him he would still indulge in their mouths along the sensitive shaft of him, at the tip of him. Their tongues flicking along the sensitivity of him, their spit combining with his precum, the betrayal of his genuine excitement. Astarion would still bend them over the bed, or press them against the wall, and slip himself into them. His hands gripping their bodies tightly, sometimes enough to draw blood and the fervor of his hips gave away his desperation. The excitement of his cock gliding along their slick was enough to keep him hard, keep him excited.

Still, his mind would wander. All he could see, all he could hear, would be Gale. Well, at least what he wished to see and what he had wished to hear. Hells, what he wished to feel. The way Astarion yearned to feel wizard’s fingers clasped against his clammy skin, Gale’s nails trying to find purchase against the slickened surface of it. Gale’s hair, dampened with his own sweat, plastered to the back of his neck…stuck to Astarion’s neck as the wizard would pant, Gale’s warm breath warming the spot in his neck where Gale’s face would be buried. The heat from Gale’s breath would send Astarion into a primal spiral. Astarion would feel his release and suddenly he would be jarred out of his fantasies. The body of the stranger, the dancer, would always be laid bare in front of him. His cock still buried within them and his cum slicked between their legs and dripping onto the floorboards. Their skin would be covered in dark bruises, bite marks and scratches and the brows would be furrowed up in fear. More often than not their bodies were slick with sweat and blood and they would tremble from their own release and the sheer barbarity of him. Oftentimes he would rush out of the room, half clothed. He could never look at them for long, not realizing the full extent to which he had ravaged their bodies.

Astarion blinked and the surroundings came into focus again. Some of the dancers were shooting concerned glances at him and a few of the patrons glared at him over the rims of their tankards. Astarion realized that he was just conspicuously taking up space. The rush of sound returned to him, the plucking of a harp, the breathiness of drunken whispers and the soft rhythm of bed frames hitting walls accompanied by the moans of other patrons expending their gold for physicality.

Astarion let out a rattling sigh and slowly settled himself at the bar, yet the barmaid made no move to approach him. He figured they wouldn’t, considering he hadn’t looked at one of the dancers since he stumbled in. Astarion would have to look interested in receiving the actual service they offered here, not just a drink. His eyes roved the dimmed room, the candlelight dancing on the shimmering linens draped over both male and female dancers. Perked breasts and firm nipples teased against some of the semi-translucent fabric, dark areolas clearly visible. Fabric rested so low on the waist of others that he could see the apex of their thighs, where it connected to their services. Some groped and grinded against patrons and others simply wandered around with drinks, accepting pinching fingers and grasping hands on all manners of their being.

Astarion turned his back to the room once again and rested his elbows on the bar as he ran his shaking hands through his hair, which was still slightly askew from his rushed exit from Gale’s dwellings. He startled when he sensed a familiar presence, a familiar smell invading his nostrils. Warm and reassuring and faintly of…sulfur.

“By the Hells, Astarion? Is…is that you?” The voice was light and dancing. Warm and comforting in this otherwise territorial space. It held a tone of hopefulness…yet also carried a chime of wariness. Astarion turned, taking in the figure that stood behind him now, proud yet coy. Astarion willed the debonair back into his voice, into his mannerisms. He stood again, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth as he looked at the man under hooded eyes.

“Well by the Nine Hells, this is the last place I would have expected to see you,” Astarion took in the horns and the dark, warm-toned skin of the man that looked both youthful and somehow still rugged. Scars peppered the man’s face and hands and Astarion could feel his body loosen the tension that sat deep within his muscles,” Wyll…what are you doing here?”

Chapter Text

Wyll was already giving Astarion a broad grin and his good eye flashed with recognition and a small hint of appreciation. Wyll’s foot falls on the wooden floor of the brothel were heavy, but still held a tone of confidence as he made his way to the bar top. Wyll’s skin was warm and inviting, and Astarion took in the intricacy of Wyll’s tunic as the man stood proud and regal beside him. The fabric was a deep burgundy with small gold accents along the cuffs and collar. His undershirt was a deep black silk with a slight iridescence to it, almost like that of an oil slick. Catastrophic yet beautiful, in its own way.

Wyll’s grin faltered and Astarion could see the stress in his shoulders, the weight of Wyll’s stress visibly overbearing. Wyll had always been perceptive and he probably sensed the distress Astarion was experiencing. Astarion always appreciated Wyll and his consideration for others, the vampire wished they had gotten to know each other more. Wyll, at the time, had been so focused on keeping within the boundaries of his pact and finding his kidnapped father that Astarion usually felt like his company would be more of a nuisance. Not to mention, Astarion was also dealing with a plethora of inner turmoil that he tended to close himself off to most interactions within camp anyway.

“Now…I know what you’re thinking, but trust me, I am not here for that reason,” Wyll tried to sound light hearted, but his eyes looked so tired,”Mizora…sometimes she pulls me from the Hells to give me jobs on this plane. She finds it amusing to force me to meet her in places like this.” Wyll flourishes his hand as if he is motioning to the room, the building, as a whole. Astarion saw it then, the flash of a frown, the stiffness in Wyll’s shoulders as he moved. How visibly uncomfortable Wyll was now all Astarion could focus on.

Astarion finally pulls himself out of his scrutinizing thoughts of Wyll and chimes in, "Seems she still knows how to keep you on edge, hm?”. Astarion turned enough to face the bustling brothel, his eyes scanning the room. There, through the remnants of smoke swirls drifting in the air and the bustle of dancers toting around drinks and patrons, Mizora sat in a booth. Her elbows rested on the table, delicate chin resting upon manicured fingers. Mizora’s wings were tucked close to her body, no doubt to prevent mortals from gawking or making the mistake of running into them. Mizora flashed Astarion a grin, her teeth bright in the dim light of the room and she waved her delicate fingers in a half-assed greeting. The look in her eyes commanded respect and, though she grinned, her lips were tight, her nose slightly scrunched. Oh she was definitely frustrated at Astarion for interrupting her meeting with Wyll. No doubt she had not expected the vampire spawn to come barging into the brothel in the middle of the day.

Wyll’s eyes glanced over at Mizora and he shifted his body weight between his feet. Astarion’s eyes roved over Wyll again, scrutinizing. Astarion saw how Wyll’s hands clenched, even through his clothes Astarion could sense that tautness of the Wyll’s muscles, he could smell the sweat that was sheening on Wyll’s skin. Finally, Wyll nodded, responding as he did,” She finds pleasure in forcing me to be seen in public like…this,” his words were soft but held a hint of spite, "The door opened so abruptly, I had expected trouble but this Gods damned smoke is hard to see through. I came to investigate and…Gods was I relieved to see it was you.” Wyll looked at Astarion when he finished his statement. Wyll’s easy grin had returned to his face and Astarion could sense how genuine the young man was. He understood why Wyll felt uncomfortable being in public. Wyll did not care about being seen with Mizora or being seen in a brothel, he cared that people would recognize him…not just as the Blade of Frontiers but also as a devil. That familiar tinge of sulfur and the curl of horns around his head. Wyll had always been a selfless man, and the means of his pact coming about further solidified this fact, but that still did not mean he did not hold shame with his decision. Wyll lost important things when it came to making his pact with Mizora, like his father…and his freedom. Mizora’s tight leash is almost inescapable for him.

When they had been camping together, Astarion realized he enjoyed the young man so much because he could empathize with him. Astarion knew what it felt like to be stuck between difficult decisions…a decision that steals your dignity, your freedom. Astarion remembers the tug of Cazador’s leash and the fear that caused…the rage it fueled.

Astarion let out a deep sigh that seemed to rattle every bone in his body, his strained muscles seeming to relax as he let his breath out. Dropping his guard was a welcome sensation, after recent months of being on edge, surrounded by strangers and thieves. Astarion returned to a life where he always had his fingers on his dagger and an eye over his shoulder.

Astarion realized he had been staring at Wyll as he had been lost in thought, his mind reeling over the sight of such a familiar and friendly face. Astarion let a grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he crossed one leg over another, balancing on the stool, "A part of me would suspect you’d be hunting me, Wyll. It is…good to see you too.” The sentiment felt strange coming from him, even with his recent experience with running into Gale.

As the remembrance of the wizard rang through Astarion’s mind, his chest tightened and he suddenly felt the air in the brothel go thin. Astarion remembered how his morning had gone…it felt like such a distant memory and not an endeavor that had occurred mere hours ago. Astarion pulled himself from his thoughts of Gale to return his attention to Wyll who was scanning the room. Wyll’s movements were obvious, conspicuous, like he expected to see who he was looking around for. Astarion swore he felt the blood in his body run even colder as Wyll inquired, "Where is our esteemed wizardly friend? Surely he is with you…” Wyll flicked up his brows as he spoke, genuine curiosity lacing his facial features.
Astarion stared at Wyll, wide-eyed, unable to put up a facade to hide his surprise. Astarion barked out a laugh, more so to try clearing the lump in his throat, the threat of tears…he had felt the sensation bubbling in him all morning.

“Now…what would make you ask such a ridiculous thing?” Astarion had to cross his arms to hide the slight trembling in his hands, his nerves shooting through his entire body causing his fingers and toes to feel like little faeries were pricking his extremities with sewing needles.

Wyll gave Astarion an incredulous look, like he was offended Astarion would ask such a ridiculous question,” What in the Hells do you mean why would I ask that? Out of everyone in that camp you two wore your emotions on your sleeves. You were inseparable…”

“Did your little leash tugger tell you that,” Astarion immediately felt bad for the bite to his words. The way he growled them out and the fact that he knew which low blows to use on Wyll. He would utilize every upper hand he could if that meant the warlock would stop talking about Gale.

“She didn’t have to,” Wyll squared his shoulders as he stood right in front of Astarion, anger gleaming in his good eye. Astarion had hit a nerve. Wyll gazed at the spawn with such a mature intensity that it almost made Astarion cower, "I know what yearning looks like. I know what loneliness looks like. I know what it feels like to show someone your scars, your fears and the worst of yourself and you still watch them touch you so tenderly…like you are the most cherished thing in their life.”

There they were, Astarion felt the dam of tears burst, pools of salty animosity welling in his eyes. Damned this boy for his words, for his sincerity. Damned him for being right. Astarion opened his mouth to order Wyll to stop, but the warlock persisted,” I watched you both. Day in and day out. At first…I figured you were just going to use him as a midnight snack and then…you didn’t. I would catch your glances and how you relaxed your shoulders around him. You turned your back to your surroundings with him because you felt safe enough…you knew that over anything he would protect you. Gods it was so painfully obvious, Astarion. Even now you’re hoping he somehow walks through that door. Am I wrong?”

Astarion watched Wyll, frustration had now contorted his face and as he spoke…his words became more pointed, louder.

“Am I wrong?!,” Wyll slammed his open hand on the bar top this time. The rattling of glasses and tankards got the attention of a few patrons and the bartender, who looked less than pleased to be interrupted. Tendrils of lightning and smoke, the color of dried blood, surrounded the hand Wyll had slammed onto the bar top.

Astarion flinched at the intense movement from Wyll, the emotions radiating off of him. Astarion had been familiar with these types of frustrations and the anticipation of being struck by said hand startled him more than the sound it made slamming on the bar top. Astarion had known the young warlock, knew he was prone to frustration that came with his years on this plane. Wyll had much living to do before he was able to regulate his emotions but Astarion also realized Wyll would never be the type to strike him. No…his mind hand instantly drifted to those days stuck in the Szarr manor. Alone in those putrid cells, the air was always heavy and mildewed. Fighting over the scarcest amounts of food, being struck over the smallest inconvenience…failure was never an option for Astarion.

Wyll seemed to stare at his hand in a sense of surprise as Astarion hurried to his feet and captured Wyll’s wrist in his bone white fingers. Astarion guided Wyll to the back of the brothel, to a door he had used to escape the stagnant air of the place when he had frequented it. Astarion was aware that it led to a shaded back alleyway that few ever traveled through, it was more so for the brothel to leave its trash for the night until it could be attended to. Astarion released Wyll as he stumbled into the small space between the buildings, shadows indeed secluding the space. Wyll’s nose scrunched in disdain as the scent of the night’s trash invaded their senses.

“No…,” Astarion could feel how small his voice was, how the struggle of his tears quivered his lip and bobbled his throat,” You are not wrong. I knew he would keep me safe. More than anything, I felt safe with him. I felt as if I had found my own radiating orb of sunlight. His presence made me forget that yearning for the sun and…since we have…since we have been split up, my body has yearned for the closeness of that part of my soul over anything the sun could offer me anymore.”

Astarion stuttered over those words, over the realizations he uttered out loud now. Astarion could feel the trembling of his hands, let it freely show now that he had uttered his truths. He had not allowed himself to say these things, to realize them. How could Astarion burden the wizard with the curse of his devotion, the curse of his undead soul. Still, Astarion uttered the deepest and most vulnerable truth he had come to realize the second he and Gale had split ways,”...I…I am in love with him.”

There it was. Laid bare in the back alley of a filthy brothel. The trash and the rats and the shadows drank up the truth of what Astarion had said. Astarion’s mind reeled with the statement, the words sending a buzz down his spine and almost tasting like the sweetest wine on his tongue. Astarion turned his gaze to Wyll, tears flowing in a steady stream, the patter of them dripping on the cobblestone ground only audible to him.

Astarion knew what these tears meant. Unlike the tears he had shed at the ending of Cazador’s reign, these tears were truly for him. Those tears had been building up over the course of years. The years of pure shit he had to endure just to gamble for his life. Astarion’s days had never been promised. Astarion’s tears now…they were for the promise of life ahead. The realization that he could trust Gale, he could confide in Gale…he loved Gale. These tears were for the months he lost being terrified to admit this to the wizard. These tears were for the remembrance of the happenings just this morning.

Wyll was staring at Astarion, his hands slack at his sides. Astarion knew Wyll had never seen him like this, even when he had cried over Cazador, his tears had been so full of malice. Those tears had still felt as sharp as the dagger he had driven through the vampire lord’s carcass. These tears felt like a welcoming hug, warm and inviting and healthy. These tears sustained the field of hopes and regrets Astarion had acquired in all his lifetime. These tears were a gentle coaxing and a reminder of the small amount of humanity that was still nestled within his being.

“Wyll, I need you to do something for me,” Astarion took a deep breath as he spoke, the realizations of the day causing his body to go into a fit of nausea, "I know the idiot is looking for me…please, please can you find him and bring him here. Let him know I’m safe but let him know that I…let him know that I need him.”

Astarion explained to Wyll where Gale’s current living space was located and told the warlock that Gale would most likely head over to the bar he had found Astarion at the first time. Wyll nodded, listening intently to what Astarion was saying, taking it all the information, ever the diligent helper.

“I will not fail you,” Wyll said with the conviction of someone on a life ending mission. Before Astarion could thank the young man, he was already at the end of the alley and traveling into the daylit city to search for the wizard.

Chapter Text

Gale’s body felt cold while he meandered the streets. Hollow was more the sensation he was experiencing. He could tell that his mind was not fully present and he sensed the glazed over look he had as his body seemed to simply run on autopilot, putting one foot in front of the other. Passersby watched him with looks of concern, some of them clutching their coin purses closer to their bodies, gripping the handles of their baskets full of wares a little tighter. Gale could not dredge up the energy to be concerned about how disheveled he may have appeared to strangers. The morning had replayed countless times in his mind, watching the anger and hurt surface on Astarion’s features and watching the vampire spawn storm out of the small room. It sent a sharp twinge through Gale’s chest every time he remembered the expression on Astarion’s face, like the magick inside of him became unruly remembering the pain there.

For the first time in a long while, Gale was absolutely terrified of having lost the vampire spawn in more than just a literal way. Gale recalled the nights he had sat and ate alone, recounting his conversations with the vampire spawn and wishing he could have just one more. The nights where he would bathe himself and run his fingers along his body, trying to convince himself that they were the hands of Astarion. His hands were not as precise, his fingers not as slender, and his skin was shades away from the perfect porcelain he had grown to admire and compare to the stars. Gale remembers the nights he would sit in the dark, a blade pressed to the thin skin of his wrist. He would remember just how much pressure it would take, just how deep the blade would have to pierce for him to escape the Hel of his thoughts, the emptiness of his heart.

Gale remembers those tears slipping from his eyes, his knuckles turning white as his grip on the blade’s handle would tighten. “Do it,” he would seethe at himself,” get it over with you gods-damned coward.” Gale would hiss, berating himself into ending it all, the sharp tip of the blade pressing further into his skin, threatening to pierce with precision. It was only fair, he would tell himself. How many lives had he taken during their expedition and how many of those faces did he truly even remember? People who were swayed and preyed on, their desire for power and education exploited and used to drive their morality. How different was he from them? He had pursued dark paths to gain the knowledge he wields now, he could not trust himself to not pursue those paths again.

Gale could no longer turn to the guidance of Mystra, she had made it blatantly clear he was no more use to her. Once Gale had discovered his autonomy, the manipulations of Mystra in his youth and his feelings for Astarion. Gale remembers the blade would slip from his fingers, and the echo of the cold steel making contact with the floor would ring through his empty room and he would sob himself into the morning.

The bustle of the town brought Gale back to the present. He inhaled sharply through his nose, slowly releasing the breath through his parted lips as he found a less busy place to collect his thoughts. He stood in a little pocket of the market crowd, next to a produce stand with a dragonborn vendor. People tended to be wary of the dragonborn so the traffic of her particular booth was far less than all the others.

Gale knew that his search for the vampire spawn was imperative, but he also couldn’t help but see the sad glint in the vendor’s eyes. Her desire to sell something she had clearly put sweat and love into. Her horned and scaly appearance kept patrons away but Gale felt himself drawn to her. He could sense the dedication she had to her craft, especially when he watched her tidy the fruit that had yet to be picked over. Gale knew what it felt like to dedicate yourself to something you love. Be it education, hobby, craft or otherwise and he could not go about his journey without acknowledging her hard work. Gale decided to approach the vendor's booth, noting that he had yet to eat breakfast and the energy would help him with his search for Astarion.

Gale began to eye the varying produce the dragonborn was selling. The vendor had been aimlessly swatting away flies and other pests from the fruits but she perked up as soon as she noticed Gale seeming genuinely interested in her wares.

“Nice day today, I’d say,” she chirped,” can I help ye with anything?”

Gale smiled at her as he took in the fruit, picking a few up to test their integrity. They were perfectly ripe, a few were picked a hair early but they would ripen within the week. Gale noted the dragonborn standing off to the side, her hands tucked behind her back and her gaze turned down to the ground. Her scales were a deep dandelion shade and the scales at the end of her snout and on her brow shimmered gold as the sunlight shifted against her skin. She wore a simple dress with a tattered apron tied over it. Her dress and her apron were both covered in dirt and frayed holes, the front pocket of her apron had various weeds and small wildflowers peeking out.

“I…which one is your favorite? Do you have any suggestions?” Gale looked at the dragonborn this time. She seemed startled to be addressed so directly, her fire-like iris’s flaring as her slitted pupils widened, then quickly narrowed as she turned her attention back to her produce.

“Well…” the vendor picked up various fruits and described them to Gale. She described their texture and how best to eat them. She collected a few in a small cloth bag, her clawed fingers were nimble; gentle, as they handled the produce and secured them into the cloth tote. Gale watched as she filled the cloth tote and gently cinched the leather drawstring, tying it off and securing the fruit within.

She held the small satchel of fruit out to Gale and he replaced that space in her hands with gold.

“Wait, I…I hadn’t told you the price for them…,” she started to look at the gold in her hand, counting and sorting out some of them to give Gale whatever extra he had slipped to her.

“No. No need,” Gale folded her fingers over the gold, the scales on her hands were warm from the sun catching on them and they were rough from the work in her gardens,” the extra is for the hospitality and the recommendations. I thank you for taking your time to tell me about your passion.”

Gale could see the dragonborn blink as she deliberated taking the gold. The wizard understood why she was wary of taking the extra gold. She was probably wondering if he would say she intimidated him into giving her extra gold, or report her for theft. He offered her a tightlipped smile before giving her a firm, reassuring nod and departing from her booth. While he wished he could stay and chat more with her about the passions of her labor, Gale was on a mission and he could not allow himself to get more distracted.

Gale began his journey again, wandering past booths and merchants. As the sun crawled higher into the sky, the bustle became more unbearable. Crowds of people began flooding the markets and street entertainers began performing and shouting for gold. Gale could feel his body tensing up. Since the journey with Tav and the others, Gale has done his best to avoid large crowds of people. His mind immediately becomes a flurry of anxiety and he begins to see flashbacks to piles of corpses; families, entire communities decimated by the Absolute and the horde controlled by The Dead Three. Tav had convinced Gale not to take control of the crown, so he had pursued teaching for a brief stint but his flashbacks started interfering and he would have trouble sleeping which affected his teaching. He had decided that he did not want to corrupt young minds, taint their ability to learn magic because of his own short-comings and he had left.

As he had continued to consume enchanted items, trying to soothe the orb inside of him, he had questioned the rationale behind his agreement to not pursue the crown. How tedious it had been for him to consume the right amount of magic, and as the days have gone by, that amount has steadily increased. He tried to lose himself in his books again, learn more about the orb inside of him and as time went on, his flashbacks had slowly transformed from just seeing the aftermath of the Absolute to also seeing Astarion. Flashes of the back of the vampire spawns head, or a quick glance from Astarion’s piercing eyes. A quirk of his mouth and the flare of his nostrils as he would give Gale an incredulous chuckle.

Gale had tried to push the images away. He had concluded that the vampire spawn had been content with the decision to split ways and that it was mere loneliness driving the hallucinations. Astarion had been the one that came to talk to him most and, with the age of the vampire spawn, Gale was able to ask questions rarely anyone else he knew had firsthand recollections of. Astarion would sit and monologue to Gale, eloquently recalling almost everything he had done in his existence. Gale could see how Astarion could charm anyone, it was so easy to listen to the smooth drawl of his voice and watch the glint of his fangs as his lips would draw back into a grin. Gale had always enjoyed watching the vampire spawn sit and ponder his words, Astarion would always let out a low hum as he would search his brain for the precise word he wanted to use.

There reached a point where Gale’s every waking thought was intruded by memories of Astarion and he could hardly get a moment's work done. He found himself sitting with longing and, sometimes, his mind would wander to the notions of hypotheticals and “what-if’s”. What if he had kissed the vampire spawn those quiet nights alone. Where only the moon and the stars would know the true depths of their desire for each other. What if he had taken the chance to trace the delicate dips and curves of the vampire spawns physique, the cool touch of Astarion’s skin soaking into the warmth of his and melding into a temperate affection. The hypotheticals had been enough to drive Gale practically mad and he had decided his mind would not settle for this existence. Now he was here, scrounging through this market of bustling people trying to find the vampire spawn all over again. Astarion had been so close…so exceptionally close and Gale had had so much intention to finally tell Astarion everything he felt that he needed to, instead…he froze. Gale feigned hospitality, not that he didn’t want to have Astarion in his space but he had not expected to find the vampire spawn drunk off his ass stumbling about and pissing in an alley. How could he tell Astarion everything he needed to when the vampire spawn could barely keep his eyes open?

In all honesty, it had almost shattered Gale’s composure. Seeing Astarion in such a blatantly vulnerable state made Gale truly realize how much the journey with Tav had also ravaged Astarion. In all the moments he had been with Astarion, and the moments where he had observed, the vampire spawn never allowed his wits to never be about him. While he would sip on his wines and partake in the finer indulgences in life, he was always vigilant and always had a backup plan even when it didn't seem absolutely necessary. Gale was relieved that Astarion had been complacent and followed him to their destination, if not for his own selfish whims at least on the prospect that Gale knew Astarion would be safe.

Gale let his mind wander as he meandered the crowd, weaving through bodies and stumbling over stray animals scrounging for scraps. The voices around him melded into a static mess, no one voice indistinguishable from the other. He felt like he was bobbing underwater, his body guided by the torrent of tides, bobbing and weaving not entirely upon his own accord and, occasionally, the waves of voices would pull him from his memories and he would reorient himself.

Gale doesn’t know how much time passed before he could sense a voice speaking directly to him. The crowd of people still moved, undisturbed but there was one distinct, authoritative voice and he swore it was calling his name. He knew it was familiar and he knew that he should recall…maybe respond but with his thoughts a muddled mess and the crowd dense and ever flowing he had difficulty pinpointing the location of the voice. Swiftly, he felt pressure on his wrist as he was guided through the crowd, the grip was firm but guiding rather than aggressive. Gale followed this guiding touch as he was pulled out of the crowd into a less busy side street at the end of the market square. While there was still the foot traffic of people leaving and entering the market, they had passed the main brunt of the crowd.

“Gale,” the voice was clearer now, soothing yet commanding,” Gale.” Gale felt strong hands grip his shoulders, rubbing at the tense muscles there. He realized he must look strange, completely out of it. The crowd and his wandering thoughts had left his body operating almost instinctively as his brain ran through recollections of the vampire spawn and the past atrocities of his adventures.

“I…,”Gale swallowed hard, realizing how dry his throat was, "yes. You…Wyll?” Gale was able to focus now, his breathing steadying and his thoughts, once again, becoming linear, focused. The young warlock came into intense focus. Wyll’s nose was wrinkled and his brows were knit up in worry as he continued to ground Gale with his firm, messaging touch.

“There you are,” Wyll breathed, an easy smile breaking out across his lip, "Listen…there will be time for catching up another time but I need you to follow me.”

Gale blinked as he pushed aside his surprise. Gale reached up and gripped Wyll’s forearms, squeezing the taut muscle there. Tangible, he was absolutely standing right in front of Gale and he had somehow located the wizard in the bustle of this market.

“How? How are you here? How did you find me? What…” Gale had too many questions running through his mind that his mouth started to stutter at all the words it was trying to filter out.

Wyll chuckled, he had picked up on the wizards' quirks well on their ventures together, Gale was sure the warlock knew how many questions were floating in the air between them.

“I was here for a separate reason, I ran into our toothy friend. There are few things my patron tends to be useful for, finding people happens to be one of them.”

Gale felt a twinge of heated air float past them, as if he could sense Mizora’s scolding tone on the breeze alone.

Wyll continued as he again grabbed Gale’s wrist and the warlock began leading him once again, "He needs you right now. We can sit and chat over mediocre ale after I have finished what I was sent out here to do.”

Gale nodded, knowing where Wyll was leading him, allowing his feet to step with hurried purpose. Gale could feel the nerves in his body firing off again, his heart rate speeding up. As they walked, Gale practiced every word he intended to tell Astarion.

Chapter Text

The swell of the crowd seemed to part around Wyll and Gale. He couldn’t place if the townsfolk could sense Wyll’s fiendish patron or if they simply just recognized him and let him pass without interference. Either way, Gale was grateful for the break in the crowd. The absence of bodies pressed against him allowed him to breathe deeper, pulling in fresh air and feeling the warmth of the sun’s rays on his skin. The fresh air helped his thoughts flow freely, his mind wandering again as they meandered through the crowds. Gale remembered all the instances he could have told Astarion how he felt. The nights where all he yearned to do was press his lips to the vampire spawn’s. Gale wondered if Astarion’s lips would feel cold or if, somehow, he would feel warmth there, soft and gentle and comforting.

Gale rambled in his mind, what would he say to Astarion, how would he say it. Would Astarion be angry with him…hurt maybe? What would he be hurt about and how would Gale be able to quell any of those feelings? How can Gale trust that seeing Astarion would even help with the vampire spawn’s mood. Gale released a shaky breath and he continued to follow Wyll through the market, the crowd began thinning as they reached a side of town that contained bars, brothels and black market fronts.

Gale had wandered into this part of town many times when first arriving, partially in hopes of finding Astarion and the other part was in the search of a vice to consume his wandering mind. He didn’t much care if it had been a body or booze but he knew he needed something. He always ended up going back to his dwelling before finding himself consumed in the distraction of the body or the booze. Gale had also ventured over here many times to inquire about poisons. Tasteless…scentless, something only a skilled, back alley alchemist who works with killers for hire would know how to concoct. He had never mentioned his intentions for it, and they had never asked or pried. He had acquired a vial and gave himself a deadline. If his thoughts ended up consuming him…if he could not find the vampire spawn before that moment, then he was going to use the concoction on himself. Down the entire vial as he lay down to sleep and his dreamless sleep would have slipped into quiet, meaningless nothingness. He would no longer have to worry about his lack of dreams and he would be free from the orb’s clutches completely. While, in his journey, he had been able to consume magical items and was able to find wisdom with druids and some Selunites that Shadowheart had specifically inquired for him, the orb still served as a reminder of his greed.

Gale was rattled from his thoughts when Wyll came to an abrupt stop. That familiar scent of sulfur and embers wafted past him again and he knew that was Mizora making it abundantly clear who he needed to thank for the ease of their navigation. Wyll exhaled as he released Gale’s wrist from his firm grip. Gale rubbed at that part of his arm, his skin warm. The calluses from Wyll’s hand leaving a lingering sensation on the wizard’s skin.

“There,” Wyll gestured to the nondescript door with a nod of his head,” he should be in a private room there. Safe from the sun.” Wyll must have noticed the glint in Gale’s eyes when he mentioned a private room and the warlock raised his hands, palms facing out as he assured Gale that the spawn should be alone.
“I-,” Gale inhaled sharply through his nose and placed his hand on the splintered wooden door,” Thank you, friend.” Wyll gave the wizard a tight-lipped smile and a small nod in acknowledgment before he sauntered back through the crowd, seeming to disappear among the bustle of the crowd.

Gale could feel the palms of his hands becoming beaded in sweat, his chest tightening as he stared at the worn down surface of the door. What if he was mistaken? What if Astarion did not want to see him? What if he went back on all the words he wanted…no, needed, to say to him?
Gale wiped his hands on the coarse fabric of his cloak and pushed the door open before his thoughts could swallow him and drag him any further down the dark abyss of his “what if’s”.

The inside of the establishment was far more bustling than the outside of the building led on. The perky breasts of some of the dancers bobbing rhythmically with the sway of their hips. Chains, beads and jewels, resting particularly along the skin of them, accentuating their curves and muscles; twinkling in the smoke heavy air. The loose, almost transparent, fabrics covering the dancer’s bodies were held up by various means of leather, chains and elaborate silk ropes. The slight sheen of sweat on their skin seemed enticing, almost more like a selling point than something that would drive a customer away.

Wyll had offered an explanation on which room the spawn was residing in. Like the invisible pull of the weave, Gale began to move with purpose. He had not felt this sense of determination in him for a long while. Dancers ran their fingers along his chest, his arm, his abdomen, as he passed them. Attempting to catch his attention, attempting to fog his mind with the thrall of quick desire. He was tired of running and he was tired of falling into the abyss of his mind. He was tired of feeling so alone and he was tired of not feeling whole. He ignored the endearing touches of the dancers and, without knocking, he forcefully opened the door to the private room.

There, curled up on the floor with his back pressed to the frame of the bed, was Astarion. Gale felt his face soften as he closed the door, sliding the lock into place.

“I’ve already told you,” the spawn practically spat,” I do not WANT-oh…” the spawn’s face looked surprised to see Gale.

“I didn’t mean to…”

Astarion waved his hand dismissively,” I have been insistent with the whores here that I do not wish to inquire about their services. They keep coming in here regardless,” he let out a deep sigh,” I am…glad it is you this time.”

Astarion whispered the last part, though the air in the room was so still that it rang out clearly. Those words seem to drive themselves deep into Gale’s heart. The warmth in his chest got his stomach fluttering and he felt his fingers begin to tremble slightly. He felt all the spit in his mouth seem to evaporate, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he tried to begin telling the vampire spawn what he had wanted to the first night they had reconnected.

Gale closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply through his nose. It was now or never. He couldn’t come all this way just to run away again. He needed to say these things, and if Astarion did not feel the same…well, at least he had said them and that was that.

His eyes fluttered open and he looked at Astarion. His pearlescent hair falling in lustrous curls over his forehead and down the nape of his neck. The soft curls resting on the slight point of his eyes. His skin, bright as marble, seemed cold and elegant and the veins underneath his skin were like a clear map just underneath his skin. Oh how Gale wished to trace those veins. Astarion’s beauty never ceased to amaze him. His breath was taken away every single time.

“I…I was very worried about you,” Gale started,” you rushed out and the sun. I am…so sorry for upsetting you. I’m sure you didn’t want me to go out searching for you again. After all, you are your own person. I do not want you to think I am trying to take those freedoms from you. I..I just…,” a deep breath, a shaky voice,” I care about you Astarion. I can’t NOT care for you. I have cared for you since we sat our nights away at camp looking at the stars. Babbling about old books and wine and luxuries. I’ve cared for you since I took the time to bandage your cuts and mend your bruises, wash the blood from your clothes and serve you dinner. I have cared for you far more than I have ever considered my connections to the weave.”

The words were tumbling out of Gale now. He had started something he knew he didn’t want to stop and that he knew needed to be said. Astarion was staring at Gale now, his red eyes wide and glinting, like tears were collecting in them. Gale kept his distance, giving Astarion the option to close the space between them. The wizard continued,” The day we departed…was one of the worst days of my entire life. I was lost and I missed you and I lost so much of my desire to do anything. By the gods Astarion, you are my life. You are the beating in my chest. You are my reason for living and trying. If it weren’t for my desire to find you again I would be nothing but a corpse at the bottom of the Chionthar at this point. I had…nothing…absolutely nothing without you.”

The tears began streaming now. Warm against his skin and inevitable. All these words he had been holding onto, terrified to even speak out to himself. He noticed the small glint of tears running along Astarion’s cheeks and the spawn stood up, taking one step closer to Gale and closing some of the distance between them.

“A monster, Gale,” the spawn spoke softly, eyes locked with the wizard’s,” I have lived, and died, an existence of sin and backstabbing. Nobody can accept that fact. Nobody deserves someone with that much blood on their hands. How is that…fair to them? To offer them someone who is so broken and surrounded by shadows and lies.”

That’s what it was…Gale understood now,” Astarion…”

“Don’t! Don’t say my name like that. Do not say my name so softly…so gently. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Gale stepped forward then, the space between them gone now. Replaced by their bodies almost pressed to each other now. Gale brought his hands up to Astarion’s cheeks and the spawn closed his eyes tightly, more tears falling down his cheeks and catching in his damp, silvery eyelashes. Gale cupped Astarion’s cheeks, his thumbs rubbing away at the streaks of tears on the spawn’s cheeks,” I have spent my life not knowing what the hells I’m doing. That has never stopped me before.”

Gale was certain Astarion could hear the fierce beating of his heart as their bodies pressed closer. Gale appreciated the coolness of Astarion’s skin. It grounded him and though Astarion’s skin looked polished as marble, it was soft.

“Yeah…well, you’re also a Gods damned fool,” the spawn quipped back, a grin tugging slightly at the corner of his lips now. His breath was cool against Gale’s skin.

“Oh? You know this as fact?” Gale was whispering now as he dropped one hand to the vampire spawn’s waist, gripping the taught muscle there and pulling their bodies flush to each other.

“I have known since the moment you let a vampire spawn you didn’t know into your tent and you fell asleep,” their lips were close now. Astarion’s hands resting on Gale’s midsection now, pressing flat against Gale’s stomach.

“I trusted you then, too. I trust you now,” their lips brushed as Gale said those words that have haunted him since the day they parted. The words he never thought he would be able to say to the vampire spawn,” I love you, Astarion.”

The vampire spawn let out a soft sob before their lips connected. Gale closing that distance. Astarion’s lips were soft and reassured. They were more than Gale could have hoped for. All those nights he had watched Astarion talk and wished he could just feel those lips against his. He would swoon when he would catch a glimpse of Astarion’s fangs when the vampire spawn would smile. Astarion’s lips were soft and they felt warm. The connection of their lips sent sparks travelling through Gale’s body. This sensation felt even more powerful than the weave. It had been more than what Gale had hoped for and everything he had desired it to be. All those nights of yearning and those days of fantasizing. This was a moment of fiction no more. Their lips moved tenderly at first, mutually soaking up the anticipation of this moment. Soon, they started to grow hungrier, more desperate. Astarion’s lips moved with authority and expertise. Gale felt Astarion’s nails dig into abdomen and their kiss grew hungrier.

Gale dropped his other hand to Astarion’s waist, gripping his hips tightly as he felt Astarion’s growing firmness press into his. Gale’s tongue coaxed against the vampire spawn’s lip, a silent demand to open for him and the spawn listened. Gale’s tongue ran along the sharp, piercing edge of Astarion’s fangs. Gale groaned against Astarion’s mouth and with a commanding movement, Gale’s hand gripped Astarion’s chin as he pierced his tongue on the sharp edge of those fangs. The fangs that he had imagined so many times sinking into his neck. Marking him, possessing him. He envisioned himself with the scars of bite marks in places only a true lover would be granted to see…to touch.

Gale heard the soft moan of Astarion as the blood swelled from Gale’s tongue. With a firm grip on Astarion’s chin, Gale pulled Astarion’s face from his own. He stuck his tongue out slightly, looking Astarion in the eyes as his grip tightened enough to keep the spawn’s lips parted. The blood from Astarion’s puncture wound dripped off of Gale’s tongue and into Astarion’s mouth, on his lips.

A shuddering breath escaped Astarion as his tongue glided over the blood that had fallen onto his lips. Possession. Desire. Greed. They all flashed through his eyes as the blood touched his tongue, ran down his throat. Astarion lowered himself the rest of the way to the floor. His knees softly thudding against the wooden floor, the vampire spawn rested his chin right above the base of Gale’s swelling cock. The inevitable sign of his desire.

Astarion’s eyes softened as he looked up at Gale, their eyes locking together as the wizard tangled his fingers in the silvery hair. Something he had desired to do for so long. The vampire spawn had allowed him to touch these things that he kept so meticulously particular and, for that, he was grateful.

“I love you too, Gale Dekarios,” the vampire spawn closed his eyes and a genuine smile formed on his red tinged lips.